


Impromptu Side Fics

by SilverRowan_Ivy630951



Series: Impromptu [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awesome Howling Commandos, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky is from Romania, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Literal Sleeping Together, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sleeping Together, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve is from Ireland, Steve’s mother was a squib from a pure-blood family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRowan_Ivy630951/pseuds/SilverRowan_Ivy630951
Summary: This is a compilation of any side fics I write to go with my Impromptu story. Make sure you read Impromptu before this or be prepared for spoilers (and possibly for things to not make sense).Each chapter is its own completed story so the fic will be marked complete even though I may add more chapters to it.
Relationships: Howling Commandos & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Howling Commandos, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers
Series: Impromptu [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735207
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Table of Contents

**Table of Contents:**

Chapter 1: Table of Contents

Chapter 2: Steve yelling at Dumbledore (Mentioned in [Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360030/chapters/57187834) of Impromptu)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve yelling at Dumbledore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pet peeve of mine is having to translate words, phrases, sentences, or entire paragraphs because people throw other languages into English stories but don’t bother to translate them. It’s a pain in the ass. So, here, everything in < > is in another language. Steve’s < > will only be in Irish, Bucky’s < > will only be in Romanian. Obviously, everything in “ ” is plain ol’ spoken English. 
> 
> Also, for those who don’t know, a stone = 14 lbs/6.35 kg. Obviously, ½ a stone = 7 lbs/3.17 kg. 
> 
> Post-Also, I thought the statue guarding the Headmaster’s office was a Gargoyle but the Harry Potter wiki said it was a Griffin. So a Griffin it is (even though another page on the site called it a Gargoyle).

**Sunday, April 23rd, 2006, Hogwarts, the first night back after a 2-week Easter break (Steve & Bucky’s Third Year) **

Bucky wandered the halls, searching what he could of the castle in the hopes that he would find Steve.

His best friend in the whole world hadn’t been on the train. Or, at least, Bucky hadn’t seen him. And he’d looked. Bucky _had_ seen his stuff, though. It had all already been on the luggage trolley when Bucky had added his. Steve’s trunk was very distinctive. He’d painted it. With actual real paints—Muggle paints, not magic. There was no way anyone could mistake Steve’s things.

So, Bucky wandered the halls of Hogwarts.

He’d gone to the Great Hall only long enough to confirm that Steve wasn’t there. But he’d rather find his friend than eat, so he’d left. Missing a meal wasn’t that big of a deal for him. If he got too hungry in the night, he could just visit the house elves in the kitchens. They were certainly nice to him every other time he’d stopped by.

An insecure part of him thought that maybe they had to be nice to him, even if they didn’t want to. His parents had raised him to be kind and, at a month over thirteen, he didn’t like the idea of anyone being forced to do something. He hoped that Hogwarts was a good enough place that the house elves weren’t forced to do something they didn’t want, including being kind, friendly, and giving. Some of them weren’t so ready to help—like a dark cloud constantly hung over them. He hoped that meant he was right about Hogwarts: that the school gave them a job, not forced them to work.

Bucky thought that Steve’s attitude was maybe, possibly—probably definitely—rubbing off on him. Steve had been horrified when he first learned how some people treated the house elves, as well as other creatures and beasts. And his many, _many_ passionate speeches on why all beings should be treated kind and fair had a lot of truth to them.

_It’s not right, Buck! No one and nothing should be forced to live as a slave or treated as lower than dirt. Just because someone is different or not how others want them to be shouldn’t mean they’re bad or should be treated poorly! Even alley rats deserve better!_

Maybe Bucky could just make himself some food if he got hungry late at night, not bother the kitchen elves. He certainly knew how to put together a sandwich, even if he couldn’t actually cook.

It wasn’t until hours later that Bucky began to lose hope of finding Steve that night. Dinner was over. Even the Professors and Headmaster had retreated ten minutes before. Peeves had told him so when he’d passed!

Bucky had even checked their basement dormitory at least four times, in case Steve had gone back at some point.

He was about ready to give up for the night and just try again tomorrow. He’d walked what probably amounted to many kilometers, most of them consisting of steps. There were a _lot_ of staircases in Hogwarts. Objectively, Bucky had known that but, bloody hell, did he know that much more intimately now. That wasn’t even counting the staircases that had moved on him while he was partway up so he’d had to backtrack and take a different route.

Bucky was giving up. Obviously Steve wasn’t to be found tonight and Bucky _hurt_. Everywhere. And all his walking had made him tired and hungry. But he felt too tired to go get food. He’d just take himself back to the Hufflepuff dormitory— _again_ —and go to sleep. Steve would have to wait until morning when Bucky tried again. After breakfast.

Looking around, he oriented himself and set off. With a couple more backtracks due to moved staircases, Bucky found himself passing by the Griffin and the steps that led up to the Headmaster’s tower office.

“Hullo,” Bucky said, as he always did when he passed the magic stone. Steve’s impassioned rants had definitely rubbed off on him. He’d started saying hi every time he passed since the Christmas holiday their first year. Sometimes he even stopped to talk to it. The thing was _fantastic_! And really smart for being a magically enchanted stone that guarded a staircase—even if it was the Headmaster’s staircase.

Before the statue—Griffith, as Bucky privately thought of it—could say anything in reply, Bucky’s ears picked up on distant shouting. He glanced up the stone stairs. Whoever that was, they had to be really loud for their voice to travel all the way down to Bucky. Presumably the door was closed up there.

The words were indistinct, incomprehensible, but the tone was not. The person was furious. Something in Bucky’s stomach tightened and he didn’t know why. And there was something in his heart that tugged. Something told him he _needed_ to get up there _right now_. It wasn’t until a couple words were shouted even louder than the others—or possibly just shouted closer to the door—that Bucky’s blood froze.

_Steve._

That was Steve. It had to be. He couldn’t understand the words but there was no way it could be anyone else. No one could match that level of righteous indignation, fury, and passion. And hurt, Bucky suddenly realized.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Please,” he whispered, turning to the Griffin statue. “Please. You have to let me up. That’s Steve. I need to be up there. Please, you have to let me—I need—” Bucky couldn’t help it. His eyes started to fill and he pressed a hand to Griffith.

Something shocked him, like energy passing through him, but he didn’t care. He only cared about Steve, about getting to him. Steve was his best friend in the whole world and he was _hurting_. Bucky had to get to him.

 _Please_ , he pleaded with his eyes and all his heart. He didn’t even know if the Griffin statue could see him but he had to try. He had to get to Steve.

Without warning or word, the stairs began to move. Bucky swallowed past his dry throat, forced out a “Thank you!” and bolted up.

It was the Headmaster’s office, a place Bucky had never been before, but it never even crossed his mind to knock. He just grabbed the doorknob and turned it. The door swung open silently—through oiled hinges or magic, Bucky didn’t know. Nor did he care. He ignored it to stand in the doorway.

Most of the wall space was covered with countless portraits, as the rest of the school was. Nearly every portrait-person watched with intense curiosity, confusion, or amazement. Off to the side, Dumbledore stood beside Professors McGonagall and Snape, watching Steve pace and shout in Irish and gesture angrily about. McGonagall looked slightly alarmed while Snape looked pinched and sour, as per usual. Dumbledore just watched Steve bemusedly, apparently content to let him rage until he could find out what was going on.

It was obvious that none of the three, nor most of the painted people on the walls, understood a word Steve said. Only one of them looked anywhere near sympathetic. But Bucky understood Steve all too well. He and Steve had been teaching each other their languages practically since the moment they’d met, after all.

Angry tears swam in Steve’s eyes as he yelled at Dumbledore in Irish. <They could have helped her! But no! They refused! Because of _them_ , my Ma is _dead_!>

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath at that, shocked.

Steve spun swiftly, fury powering the movement. <Jerk.> Relief flooded his tone at the same time that agonizing grief swept over his features. At the sight of Bucky, Steve’s tears began to fall. <She’s dead. They killed her. They could have saved her but she’s a Squib so they did _nothing_. They killed her.>

The tightness and grief clogging his throat and his brain made it impossible to speak in anything other than his birth language. But Steve understood Romanian as well as Bucky understood Irish. With his hand rubbing at his painful heart, Bucky asked, <Who killed Ms. Sarah? Who?>

Bucky had spent a part of every summer since they’d met visiting Steve. Ms. Sarah was a lovely woman, both inside and out. Next to Bucky’s own mother, she was the kindest lady he’d ever met in his life. He couldn’t understand why someone would ever want to hurt her.

<She got sick—the Black Cat Flu. A neighbor, Miss Nina—she’s another Squib—took her to St Mungo’s but they wouldn’t do anything. The Matron recognized Ma from when they brought me in first year. She said it was impossible for a Muggle to contract a wizarding sickness and that, since Ma was a worse than a filthy Muggle, she must by lying. The nurses threw them out.>

Bucky was doing everything he could to hold back his own tears at Steve’s words. He took a few steps into the room, closer to his friend. <When? How long ago did she…?> But he couldn’t make himself say it.

<Feburary. I found out when I went home. The locks were changed and someone else was there. Miss Nina found me sitting on the curb and told me what happened. She took me to St Mungos to talk to them. The Matron said— She said—> But he couldn’t keep going. Instead he pressed his trembling lips together.

Bucky could no longer stand it. At watching Steve break down, plus his own grief at the thought of Ms. Sarah gone, Bucky ran to his friend and wrapped him up in the tightest hug he could manage. Steve buried his face in Bucky’s neck as a few sobs escaped.

<What did the useless bitch say?> Bucky was angry and he was hurting. But his words made Steve let out one surprised chuckle. It still sounded like heartbreak. But it was better than the body-wracking sobs. Bucky had never seen Steve cry before. Not even when he’d almost passed out that first day trying to haul his luggage out of the train compartment.

<She said that she remembered me, too, and that, if it hadn’t been Dumbledore who had insisted I be healed, they wouldn’t have done it for any amount of money because I was no better than a filthy Mudblood. Said I was actually worse because of what Ma was. And she couldn’t even manage to be Muggle scum properly because she had to work three jobs just to send me to a school that shouldn’t have accepted me in the first place. She said she was glad my mother was d-dead and that she was a disgrace t-to all Wizardkind.>

Bucky pulled back, shocked and utterly disgusted. “What?” He somehow managed in English.

Snape broke in snidely from the side. Bucky had completely forgotten that Dumbledore and the two Professors were even there. “Finally someone speaks English! Why come bother busy people if you won’t even speak in a common tongue?”

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall said sternly and a little appalled. “That’s no way to…”

But Bucky no longer paid any attention. He had mostly let go of Steve and, at Snape’s words, Steve’s grief swung right back to righteous fury. He broke out of Bucky’s loose hold to charge the Professor, his fists clenched and ready.

Bucky was used to pulling Steve back from fights but this was different. Steve was going to sock a _Professor_! Bucky reacted more quickly than he ever had before. In less than a second, he was after Steve and wrapping his arms around him from behind. He lifted and turned them so that Bucky was in between his friend and the three adults.

<It’s not worth it, punk. Don’t let him be the reason you get expelled. You’re going to stay so that we can learn everything we possibly can about magic. We’ll grow up and prove every single bigoted witch and wizard asshole wrong. Everyone will know not to mess with the likes of a Rogers or a Barnes, both of whom proudly love and loudly claim the Squibs in their families. You’re better than them. You’re better then all of those stupid fucking prejudiced wankers.>

Merlin, but his mother would hex his mouth shut for a month if she ever heard him talking this way. But his temper was up just as much as Steve’s. He’d love nothing more than to punch out Snape right along side his best friend, as well as anyone else who deserved it. But short of doing that—and likely getting them both thrown out of Hogwarts—cursing was what he had. He had to keep his head. For Steve. For the both of them.

<We’ll teach people that it’s not pure-bloods, half-bloods, Mudbloods, Muggles, and Squibs, it’s _people_. Don’t do anything stupid, Steve. Stay. _Help me show them they’re wrong_.>

Slowly, ever so slowly, Steve started to—well, not relax but to let that ready, fighting tension ebb. There was still anger and grief in him, breaking him up. There was no way that would ease with a few words. But Steve was no longer so ready to jump at the slightest provocation.

As his friend calmed, Bucky finally started to take notice of how it felt to hold Steve in his arms. He had somehow gotten _even skinnier_. Steve had to have dropped at least half a stone. He’d already been nearly skin and bones so it was weight he couldn’t afford to lose.

The loss alarmed Bucky greatly.

Despite Steve’s protests, Bucky let go, turned him around, and pulled at the collar of the oversized sweater and t-shirt he wore…only to see a pair of collarbones jutting out even farther than normal. He quickly pulled up the bottom of Steve’s shirt. Bucky could see every one of his ribs, too, even where they met with his sternum.

“When was the last time you ate?” He knew it was a very unlikely possibility, considering just how much weight Steve had lost, but he still hoped: “A day?” Steve averted his eyes. “Three days?” he tried again. When Steve looked away completely, Bucky’s stomach sank. He grabbed Steve’s chin and forced him to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Answer me, punk.”

“Eight,” he finally muttered. Bucky’s stomach, now feeling like lead weight in his shoes, turned to roiling, spitting sparks. Steve hadn’t eaten since the day before Easter. And he’d likely been alone for even longer than that.

Behind him, someone sucked in a breath. Bucky ignored it. “Didn’t you stay with Miss Nina?”

Steve’s eyes widened and shot up to his. He was momentarily shocked out of his misery and heartache. “I couldn’t do that to her, Buck! She’s poorer than us and we could barely afford much of anything! She’s lucky to even have a home to sleep in with the way wizardkind still treat Squibs! I couldn’t make her put me up! She’d already done so much for me. She gave me a whole loaf of bread _and_ took me all the way to London to talk to _them_. That was more than enough.”

Bucky forced himself to breathe and ignored his anger at the reminder of what the hospital nurses had done. “If not with her, then where did you stay?”

Steve’s eyes slid past Bucky’s to look behind him, as if just remembering they had an audience. His face turned bright red and he looked away mumbling lowly in Irish. Bucky heard it anyway. Steve had stayed on Platform 9 ¾, hidden under a grate on the Hogwarts Express station platform.

Bucky just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you write me? We would’ve come for you.”

Steve’s spine straightened with all the steel in his tiny body. “I don’t need no charity, Buck.”

“Just who do you think I am?!” Bucky said, stepping back, deeply insulted. “Do I look like _charity_ to you, you ass? I’m your fucking best friend.” Then, switching back to his native Romanian, he sadly added, <I love her, too, Steve. You have to know that. You have to know I would’ve been there in a heartbeat if I’d known.>

Steve’s eyes quickly filled with tears again. A few spilled over as he sniffed. <I know. I’m sorry. I should have.>

<You don’t have to be alone, you know,> Bucky said, placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. <You’re _not_ alone. You have all of us. Me, Pegs, Jim, Gabe, French, Monty, Dum Dum. Even Howie. Any one of us would have dropped everything and come for you just like you would for us.>

Bucky just sighed when Steve looked down, shoulders hunched, still silently crying. He looked like he was disappearing and something clenched somewhere behind Bucky’s heart. “Come on, punk. Let’s get some food into you. We’ll bring some extra back to eat in a few hours and you can sleep with me. I’m not leaving you alone right now.”

He gently led Steve out of Dumbledore’s office, not bothering to look back. Steve would always be most important.

He could only hope that they wouldn’t be expelled—Steve for trying to hit a Professor and Bucky for barging into the Headmaster’s office without invitation or permission.

In case he didn’t get the chance to later, when they reached the base of the stairs, Bucky gently patted Griffith in silent thanks for letting him go up. Again, energy rippled through his hand like a shock.

But he was distracted when, a second later, Steve stumbled weakly, probably from a severe lack of food. Bucky reached out and caught him before he could land on the ground. Anger and determination could only carry a person so far, even for someone like Steve, who had more stubborn willpower in his little finger than ten adult pure-blood wizards had in their entire bodies.

With an arm wrapped around his best friend subtly supporting him, Bucky led Steve off.

Steve would always be the most important.

*****

“He hadn’t eaten in _eight days_.” Minerva said, deeply shocked. She wondered how that was even possible for a boy already as terrifyingly skinny as Rogers was. It shouldn’t be. By rights, he should have been dead—or, at least, too weak to stand. That he was, and that he still had that much power and focus, said a great deal about the boy.

She desperately wanted to go after the two children, to feed Rogers up herself. But she refrained. She knew Barnes would get him to eat, probably easier than anyone else in all of Hogwarts. The two had practically been joined at the hip since day one. And, anyway, they needed to figure out what this was all about.

“Do either of you know what they were saying?” she finally asked.

“You mean you don’t know, Minerva?” Severus asked. His tone, if not his words, was more reserved than usual, possibly because of her reprimand. Or maybe it was because of what they _had_ been able to understand of the conversation they’d just witnessed.

“I’m from Scotland, Severus, not Ireland. I know Gaelic. He was speaking Gaeilge. While they sound similar, they are not the same.”

They both turned to look questioningly at Albus. But Albus only looked deep in thought, as though he could puzzle everything out solely from their body language.

“I could have sworn that boy looked like…” the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black muttered, just barely audible over the noise, “But, surely, he couldn’t be.”

“Whatever it was about,” another former Headmaster’s portrait called out, “they were certainly upset.”

“That’s putting it mildly. I could hear he blond boy just fine without my ear trumpet, even if I couldn’t understand a word!” That was most certainly shouted by former Headmaster Fortescue.

“His mother died.”

That silenced the entire room.

Albus, Severus, and Minerva all turned to look at Dilys Derwent in her frame. All the other portraits did their best to do the same.

“That’s what all that ruckus was about?” someone scoffed. “People die all the time.”

“True,” Dilys said. “But she died of the Black Cat Flu.”

“The Black Cat flu doesn’t kill people,” someone else said dismissively.

That started up an argument between a few of the paintings.

But, once again, everyone was silenced at Dilys’s next words. “It does when it remains untreated.”

“Do you know anything else of this situation, Dilys?” Albus asked. “If Sarah Rogers died…”

“I was in my portrait in St Mungo’s admitting area the day she came in,” she said. “Even as sick as she was, she did look an awful lot like the blond boy. But she called herself by a different name.”

“What name did she use?” Severus sounded reluctantly curious.

“She said she was Lyra Alexia Black.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw Phineas Black appear to pale and drop heavily into his chair.

Albus saw it, too, and walked up to speak directly to him. “What is it, Phineas?”

“I thought he was lying,” he murmured. “Or misinformed.”

“Who,” Albus asked.

“Sirius. I had been told years ago by Walburga—Lyra’s mother—that her daughter had died. She told the whole family that. Said she’d blasted her from the Black Family Tapestry because she couldn’t’ stand to see her talented and beloved daughter’s face.”

He looked Albus in the eye then. “Last year, Sirius informed me that his Uncle Alphard told him on his deathbed that Lyra was alive, that she had been sent away. I didn’t believe it.”

“You said that Rogers looked like someone,” Minerva felt the need to prompt when he fell silent.

“My grandfather. That boy was nearly the spitting-image of my grandfather, Licorus Black, born in 1808.”

“But why would her mother lie and say she was dead?” Severus asked.

It wasn’t Phineas who answered but Dilys. “Because she was a Squib. It was why the Matron at St Mungo’s refused to treat her. I tried to counsel against it, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Minerva saw a stormy look enter into Albus’s eyes. Then Dilys’s words hit her. “They _refused_ to heal her of an easily treatable wizarding illness?”

“Aye. The boy also said that, when he went there to question them, the Matron told him that she wouldn’t have even healed _him_ previously if Albus hadn’t been the one to insist on it. He said she called him worse than a Mudblood and said she was glad Lyra was dead.”

There was complete silence in the room. Right up until it exploded with noise. Many of the portraits’ occupants were horrified and protested loudly. Some felt the Matron was completely justified in turning a Squib away, but most did not.

Personally, Minerva wanted to throttle St Mungo’s Matron. She had never met Rogers’s mother, but for a widowed woman to raise such a kind boy on her own, one with such ingrained morals as Rogers had, she must’ve been very strong and good. Especially considering the world she had been born into had cast her out and the world she was forced to live in treated her poorly. She remembered Albus telling her two years ago about how Rogers’s mother said she was working multiple Muggle jobs just to pay for her son to attend Hogwarts.

When Minerva looked at Albus again, his eyes burned with raw fury. He looked ready to storm into St Mungo’s right that very minute.

She knew her old friend. It took a lot to get his temper up, but once it was, he was a difficult man to stop. But maybe she could postpone it for the night. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until morning, Albus,” she advised before her friend could storm the castle, so to speak. She hoped his temper would cool some by then. “Perhaps it is more prudent, at the moment, to have Pomona check on Rogers and Barnes as Head of Hufflepuff? Barnes looked almost as upset as Rogers. Besides, the Matron probably won’t be at the hospital until morning.”

Albus reluctantly agreed to wait and it wasn’t long before the portraits settled down. Severus left for his quarters and Albus retreated further into his office to plan.

Minerva went to go see to Pomona.

*****

Bucky and Steve arrived in the Hufflepuff common room fed and with a basket for later.

A wonderfully kind house elf named Yseult, who reminded Bucky a bit of his paternal grandmother, had taken one look at Steve and sat them both down. Within moments, there was food appearing before them and goblets filling with warm, sweet apple cider. She sent them back with more than enough food and drink for ten people.

They made their way to their common room which was conveniently close to the kitchens. They found Gabe still awake and waiting for them, sitting in a beam of moonlight. Only a few lamps lit up the room and they cast a warm glow on the furniture and the many plants around. Jonesy looked about to ask where they’d been but, as with Yseult, after one look at Steve, he held his tongue. Instead he stood up and approached them. “What’s wrong?”

Steve’s eyes filled with tears again and he just turned away to silently curl into an overstuffed armchair.

That left Bucky to quietly explain. He did his best to do so quickly and, with a nod and a worried glance back at Steve, Gabe left. Bucky wasn’t sure where he was going but he trusted their friend.

He went over to squeeze himself in beside Steve. Pressed tightly against him, Bucky could feel the fine tremors running through his body. He wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders and folded him close.

Neither of them said a word and the silence was deafening.

Bucky didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure there _was_ anything he could do. There was no way to make what happened right, no way to bring Ms. Sarah back, and no way to go back and be there for Steve the past two weeks. As he listened to the faint sound of snores from the dormitories off the common room, Bucky realized that Steve was crying again. Maybe Bucky was doing the only thing he could. He might not be able change the past, but Bucky could be here for him now.

Carefully, he pulled his too-small friend so that he was sitting sideways on his lap. Now he could wrap both arms around him. Steve curled into him and buried his face against Bucky’s neck.

A quiet tapping sounded on the circular entrance and it swung open. He expected Gabe, but in walked Professor Sprout in her night clothes and robe. And following her was every single Howlie. Peggy led their group of friends, her back straight, face grim, and fierce eyes searching until they landed on Bucky and Steve. Monty leading Howard brought up the rear.

Howie was looking at something in his hands, his wand touching it. He muttered spells under his breath. Bucky only rolled his eyes. Howard wouldn’t be Howard if he could put his experiments down. At least he’d come.

Professor Sprout pulled out her wand and started moving furniture around but Peggy came over so Bucky didn’t pay their Head of House any mind.

“Steve,” Pegs whispered, rubbing her hand up and down his back. Steve whimpered but didn’t look. He held out his hand, though, and, when she took hold, he gave the slightest of tugs. Peggy got the hint. She squeezed into Steve’s former spot beside Bucky and started running her fingers through his hair, murmuring words of sympathy and comfort.

Gabe, Monty, French, and Dum Dum talked quietly among themselves for a few moments before heading for the boys’ dormitory. When they came out, they were each laden down with armfuls of quilts and pillows. Bucky’s eyes watered and his heart swelled. He dearly loved their friends. Bucky had been the only one who had met Sarah Rogers but every one of the Howlies cared about Steve—even Howie, whether he showed it or not—so every one of them had come.

Professor Sprout made a sound to get their attention and gestured for the quilts. Everyone but Steve and Howard watched as she magically spread them out across the space she’d cleared in front of the fireplace. With one last flick of her wand, the pillows flew out of Monty and French’s arms to settle gently on the blankets. When she was done, she walked over to their chair.

“Rogers.” She tried again when she got no response. “Steve.”

He twitched and only partially turned his face to see her, too stubbornly proud to let a teacher see him cry.

“I’m truly sorry about your mother.”

Steve’s body trembled and he hid his face again at that. Bucky just tightened his hold. Peggy moved closer, too.

With a kind pat on Steve’s shoulder, she adjusted her gaze to look at Bucky. “The Howling Commandos are exempt from all classes for the next two days. You’ll still have to do the homework, but you may miss the lessons. Your friends may sleep here in the common room tonight and tomorrow night but then everyone will have to return to their own beds. And everything,” she gestured to the nest of blankets and pillows, “must be cleaned up and out of the way each day.”

Tears clogged Bucky’s throat again and he couldn’t speak. He just nodded, hoping she knew how grateful he was.

He’d honestly never expected the teaching staff to do something like this. He’d actually expected the eminently British “keep calm and carry on” attitude. He’d expected the teachers to say ‘sorry about your mother, Rogers, but we’ll see you in class first thing in the morning.’

Even if it was short, two days was definitely better than nothing and he was truly grateful for the time _all_ of them could be with Steve to help him get through this. And he was glad for the time to let _himself_ grieve. What he’d told Steve in Dumbledore’s office was true. Bucky had loved Steve’s Ma. She had been well on her way to being like a second mother to him.

She was tough and proud and hardworking. Always kind and ready to lend a helping hand. She would give her only coat to a homeless stranger in the middle of a winter storm if it was the right thing to do. After meeting Ms. Sarah, he’d understood a lot more about Steve.

The world was a much darker place for no longer having her in it.

After Professor Sprout left with a quiet goodnight, the Howlies settled into silence. Gabe sat on the arm of the chair beside Bucky, his hand lightly gripping Steve’s shoulder in support. French, Monty, and Dum Dum settled on the floor at their feet. No one knew what to say but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. The fire was crackling warmly in the hearth and, off to the side, Howie was perched on a chair muttering incantations to whatever he had brought with him.

Steve slowly relaxed in Bucky’s arms with everyone around them and eventually stopped trembling.

A few yawns started up.

“Ah-ha!”

Everyone jumped at Howard’s exclamation as he popped up to standing.

“Shut it! People are sleeping!” Gabe hastily whispered glancing nervously toward the doors leading to the dorms.

Howie looked around confused for a moment before he dismissed it as unimportant and came over to the group.

Bucky finally saw what was in his hands.

It was a teddy bear.

“Hey, pal,” Howard said, more gently than Bucky would have thought possible for him. “I have something for you.” He waited until Steve slowly turned his head to look at him, then he handed the bear over. “I, uh, I spelled it for you.” For a few moments, he looked embarrassed that he’d had a teddy bear to put any spells on. But then he squared his shoulders. Maybe Steve had rubbed off on all of them. “It’s so you don’t have any bad dreams.”

Slowly, Steve reached out to take it. It was a soft chocolate-brown bear with a navy blue button-up jacket. On the shoulder of each of its sleeves there were little stylized wings. Steve looked at it for a few seconds before he folded it up in his arms. With his head still on Bucky’s shoulder and his legs still draped over Peggy’s lap, he silently reached out to grasp Howard’s wrist. He didn’t appear to do anything, didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze, just held it for a few long moments. Then he released Howie and hugged the bear tight.

A few minutes later, after yet more yawns from various friends determined to stay awake, Bucky made a decision. “Hey, Stevie, why don’t we all move closer to the fire? There’s warm blankets and pillows over there. Think maybe we can do that?”

Like a sleepwalker, Steve slowly stood up. He didn’t say a word, only waited as everyone joined him. With him in the middle of the group, they made their way to lie down on the blankets. Peggy and Bucky stayed close, bracketing protectively around Steve. They did their best to share body heat and strength.

When he was little, Bucky had once found a starving dog and, after giving up the rest of his lunch, managed to coax it into following him home. His mom and sister had helped him nurse it back to health. Bucky figured that, after eight days of nothing to eat, Steve needed careful care like that dog had. So, throughout the long night, Bucky only let himself lightly doze. He made sure to wake Steve every few hours—usually accidentally waking Peggy in the process—to eat a little more of Yseult’s food. By morning, he was tired but satisfied.

It was Gabe who insisted they all eat breakfast outside in a secluded patch of the castle grounds near the Herbology greenhouses and gardens. He carefully chose a spot half in the sunshine and half in the mottled shade of a lone tree. Bucky knew that they were far enough away that any dangerous plants wouldn’t come near them but the comforting smell still floated to them on the breeze. It smelled like the Hufflepuff common room, of things earthy and alive and growing. Bucky hoped it was as comforting to Steve as it was to him. And to Gabe, by the looks of it.

Bucky decided that he would write his ma first chance for advice. And he’d ask if Steve could come home with him each break and between years from now on.

Figuring out how to pay for Steve’s schooling would be a problem for another day. For now, they would focus on Steve. They would all stick together and, though Bucky didn’t know how yet, they’d help him through.

No matter what, Bucky promised himself, they would always make it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts does not teach kids from all over Europe, only from a few countries such as Ireland, England, and Scotland. That's why there's others schools in book/movie 4. 
> 
> In my mind, Bucky's family was originally from Romania but moved so now Bucky goes to Hogwarts. Since Hogwarts doesn't usually have anyone come from there, none of the portraits understood the Romanian Bucky spoke. He didn't get in trouble for any of his cursing, nor did that part of the story spread around the school like Steve almost punching Snape did. 
> 
> And Becca is the Squib that Bucky mentioned being in his family.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! We'll see if I actually manage to sit down and write anything else that I tentatively have planned out for this.


End file.
